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Is in its infancy. The man whose eye

Is ever on himself doth look on one,

The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. Oh be wiser, Thou!

Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;
True dignity abides with him alone

Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.

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The Child is father of the Man;

And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

1804.

TO A BUTTERFLY

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TAY near me-do not take thy

flight!

A little longer stay in sight!

Much converse do I find in thee,

Historian of my infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart!

Dead times revive in thee:

Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!

A solemn image to my heart,

My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,

The time, when, in our childish plays,

My sister Emmeline and I

Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush

Upon the prey-with leaps and springs

I followed on from brake to bush;

But she, God love her! feared to brush

The dust from off its wings.

1801.

THE SPARROW'S NEST

EHOLD, within the leafy shade,

Those bright blue eggs together laid!

On me the chance-discovered

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sight

Gleamed like a vision of delight.

I started--seeming to espy

The home and sheltered bed,

The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by

My Father's house, in wet or dry

My sister Emmeline and I

Together visited.

She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, though wishing, to be near it;
Such heart was in her, being then

A little Prattler among men.

The Blessing of my later years

Was with me when a boy :

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.

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Walk by the river, in the garden of the house where Wordsworth

was born-Cockermouth.

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